


Drunk On Shadows

by fanficwriter013



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-04
Updated: 2019-08-04
Packaged: 2020-07-30 20:59:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20103532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fanficwriter013/pseuds/fanficwriter013
Summary: Clint tries to retire, he really does. He hates to admit it, but he’s A) only human, and B) getting older. But when Nat calls with suspicious activity at SHIELD and an off-books mission for Clint he can’t tell her no.





	Drunk On Shadows

Clint had gotten quite the payday from the battle of New York, and he might have made a few impulse buys. The biggest of which had been a farm in a highly classified location. He’d wanted to retire, time off felt good on his aging human body. Which Clint really didn’t want to think about.

The farm was huge, a couple of hundred acres. A small flock of chickens, a goat or four, two houses and a shared barn and storage area. He was using this time to be more present in his brother’s life, and he was looking forward to being the cool uncle to his niece and nephew. They were also getting quite the education into animals, and responsibility with taking care of the chickens. It was a good plan, and Nat would sometimes stop by. Or call him to complain about SHIELD stuff. He was living the life.

“Clint, he’s literally a dinosaur. No, no wait. I just thought up a sick burn. How do you think patriotic stickler is going to react when I have my side mission?” Nat asked she was on a video chat with him so that she could sign along while she complained. Apparently, she and Steve were being sent on a mission to some boat, and Nat was not pleased about it. Although, that wasn’t unusual. She wasn’t pleased unless she got to go on a mission by herself, and she got to stab someone.

“Well, you know. Just stab him in the arm. He’ll be fine.” Clint joked, and Nat rolled her eyes at him. Her attention got drawn off the screen, and she quickly signed that she had to go before the chat was ended. She probably didn’t want to show emotion to anyone else, and Clint was fine with that.

Nat called back a few days later and was already in the middle of a story. Clint had to snap a few times to get her attention. She gave him a look, probably because he’d snapped at her like some sort of animal. He knew that, but she could forget to slow down.

“When you get here, I’m slapping you upside the head for that one.” Nat threatened. Clint narrowed his eyes at her, trying to figure out why he was going to DC. “Something’s going on. I want you to do your perchy thing, surveillance bird.” He was trying to read her face, looking for the prank. But apparently, she was serious.

“Okay fine. You owe me, big time.” Clint said, and Nat gave him a huge mischievous grin before she hung up on him again. He’d seen that look before, and he wasn’t sure he liked seeing it in this setting.

He’d been right. He’d been so right. Nat had gotten him a shitty, squatters apartment catty-corner to where Steve was living. The only times he could leave the apartment were when he was sure that Steve wouldn’t catch him. Imagine trying to explain to that fucking face why you were caught spying on him. You know the face.

Most of the time it was hideously boring. Steve was such an old man it wasn’t even funny. He listened to records and cried himself to sleep at night. And woke screaming like two hours later. Yeah, okay. Everyone had their issues, no one can escape from the vice grips of PTSD.

But then, one night it changed. Fury was in Steve’s apartment when Steve wasn’t. In fact, Fury had limped into Steve’s apartment. And now Clint was on high alert. Something was going on. He didn’t like the looks of this.

Fury had just been sitting in the dark, in Steve’s apartment for over an hour when Clint caught a faint shiny reflection. Yes, someone might be able to make a joke about his bird name and being attracted to shiny objects. But it led him to see it. No, Him.

There was a sniper, and if Clint hadn’t already suspected something, he sure as hell did now. He couldn’t risk his position, and he was sure that Fury was dark. Fury was off-grid dark. There’d be no text warnings to anyone.

It seemed like once the sniper got there, so did Steve. There was probably talking, but they were also spies, smart enough to have background noises or to verbally talk about something else. Then everything happened at once. The sniper fired, Clint couldn’t worry about the target or their health. He needed to go after the ghost.

In a flash, Clint was out into the fire escape. Tracking the big bulky shadow, come to think of it. He had some seriously broad shoulders, that might have been a turn on. Clint shook his head, focusing on the task at hand.

The shadow had jumped from one roof to another, and now Clint was running down the street trying to keep up. But suddenly his ghost story put on a huge burst of speed, like seriously thirty miles per hour, and was gone. Clint was so distracted by his eyes failing him that he ran headlong into a wall. That wasn’t unusual, nor was it the first time. But he’d have a hell of a time trying to explain this to Nat. Speaking of Nat, she was video calling him right now.

When he turned on the video it looked like she’d been crying, or rather trying not to cry. In Russia, emotions have you. Not the other way around. Sure, she’d agreed to come to SHIELD with him but her range of emotions was seriously stunted. He should know he was a pot here. There were about three minutes where she kind of just looked at him, almost like she wasn’t even there before she said anything at all.

“Fury is dead.” She said, and now Clint understood. He was her quasi-father, and this loss would affect her deeply. He made sure he caught her eye.

“I’ll be at your apartment when you get back.” He said, and she gave him a solemn nod. He could do that for her, hold her if she needed to cry. Hold up focus mitts if she just wanted to hit things. They could just drink vodka in silence. Or they could go to one of those shooting ranges. Whatever Natasha needed.

“Can you believe the nerve. Golden Retriever Rogers lied to my very face.” Nat was pacing back and forth and ranting with a bottle of vodka in her hand. Occasionally she’d stop to take a swig, or four.

“You saw him right?” Nat asked, stopping dead in her tracks and spinning to point at Clint. Clint held his hands up, he didn’t want her to throw anything at him.

“Yes, bulky shadow dude. Hulking dude, some broad ass shoulders. And hot damn those were some broad shoulders.” Clint said, and Nat snapped her fingers at him before throwing the vodka cap at him.

“Dammit Clint, stop being a whore. He shot me, remember. And he’s just killed Fury. Come on.” She snarled at him, and Clint nodded. Okay, not the time. Shadow dude was still built like a tank though. And boy did Clint like his men. Full stop. Clint liked men, he wasn’t picky about them.

“Birdboy, cut it out,” Nat said sharply, clicking her fingers right in his face. He couldn’t pretend to miss that like he’d missed about half of her ranting. Hearing aids can only help so much.

“Okay, so we’re dealing with your ghost story. And you don’t trust Steve. So how do you want to proceed?” He asked, sure she may be drinking. But she definitely wasn’t drunk and she’d have good ideas about what she wanted to do.

“You’re going to go back to watch Steve. You’re off books, so he shouldn’t be expecting you. Text me the second he does anything fishy. I want hourly updates.” Nat said. That seemed reasonable. Something was definitely up here. She’d stay inside, he’d stay on the outside. They’d divide and conquer. It’d be okay.


End file.
